


Kiss with a fist

by When_Tommy_Met_Alfie



Series: When Tommy met Alfie AU [1]
Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Alfie is smitten, And very drunk at one point, Beginnings, I couldn't help myself, Idiots in Love, M/M, Season/Series 01/02 AU, Tommy is confused, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, wtma AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-12
Updated: 2018-01-12
Packaged: 2019-03-03 17:06:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13345668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/When_Tommy_Met_Alfie/pseuds/When_Tommy_Met_Alfie
Summary: The beginning of Tommy and Alfie's relationship. In which there are innuendos about riding, a lot of banter, rum (the good kind) and just generally just a lot of confusion on Tommy's behalf.





	Kiss with a fist

**Author's Note:**

> For this request on tumblr: Hi, absolutely love your blog! There isn't nearly enough Alfie/Tommy content out there. Could you possibly write something about how they got together/fell in love? Keep up the good work! Xxx
> 
> God, this could've become like 10000 words. I may write some outtakes in the future. And perhaps one from Alfie's POV? I had great fun writing this, I hope you enjoy reading it!

Just a few days Tommy’s first meeting with Alfie Solomons, he receives a phone call.

“Thomas,” a familiar voice comes through the line. _Why is this man he’s met once calling him by his first name?_ Tommy is instantly suspicious. It’s some sort of move in a fight for dominance in this partnership, definitely.

“Mr. Solomons. What can I do for you?”

“Oh, I just wanted to make sure you got home safely,” Solomons says. “You were in quite the state. All bashed up and everything.”

Tommy is so baffled that it takes a moment for him to respond. But he's calm when he does. “That is very considerate of you. The trip home went fine.”

“And how’s your pretty head?”

“That’s just fine too,” he says, furrowing his brow and frantically trying to figure out what Solomons is playing at here.

Solomons hums. “That’s good. Bloody good. You’ve got to take care of yourself, yeah? Dangerous business we’re in, you know.”

“Indeed it is.”

“Wouldn’t want anything to happen to you. Such a waste. Still young and all. And with those nice fucking eyes.”

Right. This is some sort of mindgame, Tommy states firmly. Luckily, he’s rather good at those. He’s glad to have figured it out. But before he can form a response, Solomons speaks up again. 

“Well that’s all for now. Got business to attend to, and all that. We’ll talk more when I come to Birmingham next week, yeah?”

Tommy falters. “What?”

“I have to take a look at my new business partners’ domains, don’t I?” Solomons says, and Tommy can somehow hear that he’s smirking. “You can show me the sights. If there are any, right, in that fucking shit hole of a town. Or town... more like just a group of houses around a muddy patch from what I've heard.”

“Yes. Of course,” is all Tommy manages to say, before Solomons hangs up.

This deal is not working out the way he’d hoped it would. All that it’s resulted in so far, is to get him beaten half to death, and an unwelcomed visit from this clearly insane man.

Tommy has a distinct feeling that this will all go straight to hell.

 ...

Sure enough, Solomons does show up a week later. In the Garrison of all places. When Tommy can’t hide that he’s mildly surprised to see him, he just laughs. Tommy’s first thought is that he’s got a rather nice laugh. In hindsight, it’s at that point things really start to go wrong.

“Well Thomas, you are fucking easy to find.” Alfie looks around the pub. “Nice little place you got here. Quaint, you may say. Shitty, you may also say.”

“A drink, Mr. Solomons?” Tommy asks, feeling that he definitely needs one.

“No, mate, I stay away from shit like that. Well, unless the situation calls for it.” Solomons says and walks over to the snug, opening the door to stick his head inside. “Would you look at that, eh? Is this where you conduct your… business meetings?”

“Sometimes.”

“You got an office? An actual office. Or do you just do your paperwork in a bloody pub? Worrying, that.”

“Not as much an office as a desk in a very small room, but sure,” Tommy gives a light shrug. “Would you like to see that too?”

“Seen enough fucking desks in my life. Let’s go take a look at that horse of yours.” Solomons turns to leave, and Tommy can do nothing but follow.

 

He discovers something as they walk through the streets toward the stables –Alfie Solomons talks. A lot.

At first, it annoys him. Then, he strangely enough finds himself being alright with it. Not enjoying it. Definitely not. But it’s rather nice to just listen to Solomons go on about something. Perhaps it’s got something to do with that voice of his… He must have some sort of hidden agenda with all this, Tommy tells himself whenever he finds that he is relaxing a bit too much in his company. Problem is, he can’t figure out what it is exactly. Alfie just talks about nothing. The weather, that a dog they pass is nice, which leads into this whole story about how nice dogs are in general.

“See, dogs have this reputation of being dirty, stupid creatures. But so are most people, and I don’t fucking mean anything by it, just that there ain’t no shame in being a bit dim in the head, yeah? Heard that the happiest people are. Fucking idiots. Though back to dogs, right, they really are much more clever than folks believe. I once saw this dog, right-“

He is insane, Tommy thinks. That’s the whole thing. It has to be.

And though this should cause him some concerns, it doesn’t at first. Once he’s stated that’s the case, he can at least be satisfied to know he’s figured him out. But the relief doesn’t last long. Because he soon finds himself laughing at the things Solomons rambles about. And although he catches himself each time and quickly straightens his features, the man looks unnervingly pleased with himself. Which immediately makes him think this is all part of some elaborate scheme, after all. And he’s right back to being on edge.  

 

“So this is our newest addition,” he says and walks up to the white horse, that immediately comes to meet him. It neighs happily when he reaches out to scratch it behind the ears. He relaxes a bit, it doesn’t do to be nervous around horses, they sense things like that a mile away. There’s also a sense of relief to not have Solomons undivided attention anymore. It’s just something about those eyes, the way they seem to bore into him.

“Fine looking animal. Fucking stupid, though. The lot of them are,” Solomons states behind his back.“Do you ride?”

 _Stop asking things._ “Sure. As a mode of transportation.”

“Ever for... the pleasure of it, eh?”

Tommy looks over his shoulder at Solomons, who is watching him with this tiny smirk on his face. Right. This is a game he knows how to play.

“When I have the time,” he says calmly, quirking an eyebrow as he turns around completely to face him.

“You any good?” Solomons takes a step closer, somehow towering over him despite their height difference not being that great. At least it wasn’t in Tommy’s head until that moment.

“I’m very good, actually,” he says and locks eyes with the taller man. Solomons’ smirk widens a bit.

“I bet you are.” He stares him down, but Tommy doesn’t falter. “You should do it more often. Help get rid of some of that fucking tension. Bet that would keep you out of trouble, yeah? Less energy to start fights with the wrong people.”

“I can assure you that’s not an issue.” Tommy leans back against the wall. Lights a cigarette. “I make sure to get what I need in terms of,” he pauses, very deliberately, to draw in smoke. “Releasing tension.”

“Do you, now?” Solomons is dangerously close, and his voice is low - _threatening?-_ when he speaks again. The smirk has transformed into something else. “And what is it that you need, Thomas?”

“Nothing that you can provide me with, I’m sure, Mr. Solomons.”

There’s this electricity in the air. Like the moment before you draw your gun on someone. Or…

“Tommy! Didn’t expect to see you here today!” Charlie’s voice suddenly breaks the tension. Tommy’s eyes snap to the entrance of the stable, and Solomons backs off. He’s got that stupid fucking grin on his face again. Like he knows something Tommy doesn’t. Fuck this.

“Charlie, this is Mr. Solomons,” he says. “Associate from London.”

Charlie and Solomons shake hands and exchange a few words. Tommy just tries to calm his racing pulse.

 ...

“That… man is on the phone for you, Tommy” Ada says. “Solomons?”

“He is calling you an awful lot,” Arthur says as he passes through the kitchen. “Is there trouble in London?”

Tommy just shrugs lightly and goes to pick up.

“Mr. Solomons. Italians bothering you again?”

“Oh no more than usual,” Solomons voice says over the line. That voice… “Just wanted to check in on you. You’re taking care, I hope?”

“Definitely not. I do my best every day to be a hazard to myself,” Tommy says flatly, and hears a laugh. Quite unexpectedly, it makes something flutter inside his chest.

“That would explain a lot. Like why you got involved with me. Fucking insane decision, that.” Tommy thinks that statement over –is it a thinly veiled threat? Could very well be, but Solomons sounds… happy. Though he's found that the tone of his voice usually means nothing.

“Maybe. The way I see it, every day is another chance to make an unhealthy decision,” he states in the same calm tone. They go back and forth like that for a while. Nothing of importance is said.

Tommy is confused when he hangs up. He’s getting very tired of that feeling in connection with this man.

Ada gives him this… look when he comes back into the kitchen. Smug. She looks smug.

“So, this Solomons,” she begins. “What kind of a man is he?”

Tommy leans against the counter. Takes out a cigarette.

“He brews rum. Leader of a Jewish gang in London, so he’s a good ally to-“

Ada cuts him off by waving her hand dismissively.

“No, not what kind of ‘business-man’-” She makes sarcasm in the last word unnecessarily clear. “What kind of man? What does he look like, for example?”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Indulge me.”

Tommy almost feels a bit flustered. When did he last feel like that?  _Last time Solomons was there._

“I don’t know how to describe him,” he says and shrugs.

“Oh please, you’re not blind!” Ada exclaims and gives a short laugh. “Stop squirming and answer.”

“Fine.” He rolls his eyes, puts the cigarette to his lips again just to get a moment to form an answer. “He’s big… tall.”

“Is he actually tall, or just taller than you?”

Tommy merely raises his eyebrows at this and Ada throws her hands up.

“Sorry, go on.”

“He’s got a beard,” he draws in smoke, letting it out slowly through pursed lips. “Dresses a bit… like he does some sort of labour, most of the time.” _By the look of those arms…_ Describing what Alfie Solomons looks like forces him to actually conjure an image of him in his head. “He’s got…” his voice trails off a bit. He thinks of Solomons face. His eyes. Of the way he looked at him in that office. With such utter self-assuredness, as if he was certain nothing in the world could touch him. Such a difference from any other man Tommy has met. Something about that confidence is both infuriating and oddly… attractive. No, definitely not attractive. “He’s got these… eyes,” he says quietly, looking vacantly at nothing in particular.

“I see,” Ada says smugly, and Tommy snaps out of it.

“What?”

“Oh, I have my suspicions,” Ada wiggles her eyebrows. “I know what this is about.”

“Do tell Ada, what is it about?”

“Well, Tommy, sweetheart,” Ada smirks. “That chat out in the hallway sounded an awful lot like banter. You know, the sort of thing you have with that special someone you might have an interest in, but who also drives you a bit crazy, and that’s secretly what you like about them.”

“It was not banter,” Tommy says firmly to stop the flow of absolute bullshit Ada is spouting.

“Call it what you want,” Ada gets up from her chair. “I know a lovers’ quarrel when I hear one.”

Tommy is, for the first time, without words. Ada is out the door before he gets the time to find any.

... 

Solomons keeps on calling. And Tommy keeps on picking up. It’s still unclear to him where this is all leading. Solomons asks things. But just things about Tommy, never the business. Things like: _yeah, it’s awful weather here today. Do you like rain Thomas? You seem like the type…_ These conversations are becoming a problem, because Tommy finds himself slipping, telling Solomons things he wasn’t planning on. And although it's harmless things, it’s the feeling that irks him. That Solomons is lulling him into some sort of false sense of security, that this will somehow lead to him ending up shot somewhere in an alley. Though honestly, what would Solomons have to gain from this manipulation? He controls almost half of London, what use would he have of a bookmaker from Birmingham, other than provide a bit of manpower in the business with the Italians?

Tommy feels like he’s slowly going insane.

... 

Alfie shows up at the Garrison again. This time, he brings a bottle of rum. The good kind.

“Are you bringing outside drinks into my pub, Mr. Solomons?” Tommy asks when Alfie hands him the bottle. It’s late, approaching closing time, and only a few patrons remain in the pub.

“Yeah, figured you could use some proper fucking booze in this place.” Alfie smirks. "Feels like life is hard enough around here as it is. Don't need to be drinking shitty fucking liquor on top of it all." 

“So, is this one of those situations that calls for a drink?”

“Yeah, it is,” Alfie says and walks over to the snug, opening the door and holding it in a gesture that clearly states: after you. Tommy does, on principle, not let people hold doors open for him. He stares at Alfie. Alfie stares back. Challenging him. It feels like the room has gone oddly quiet, as the other patrons watches this battle of wills play out. Tommy realises he doesn’t really have a choice. So, he gestures to Grace who hands him two glasses, before walking past Solomons into the small room.

It’s around this point when the whole thing really starts going to hell.

 

Tommy is drunk. He realises this far too late. Another terrible decision in connection with Alfie Solomons to add to his already rather long list. He can’t quite understand how it happened. He hasn’t had any more to drink than Solomons. He’s also too drunk to acknowledge that the other man has about twenty pounds on him.

“So… bookmaking huh?” Alfie reclines in his seat, studying him over the edge of his glass.

“What about it?” Tommy blinks slowly. Tries to focus.

“Just wondering about the choice of business, yeah?”

Tommy shrugs. “My father started it up. Stole horses. Was in to... illegal racing an’ all that. When he walked out, Polly took over ‘till me’n Arthur and John were old enough. Guess it just went from there.” He empties the rest of his glass. “’s a business as good as any. And I like horses.”

“How come?”

Tommy thinks about it. “You can’t… think about other shit when you’re with a horse. You’ve gotta just… be in the moment. It's nice. Makes my brain stop whirring for a bit. They’re good animals. Kind.” He looks down at his glass and adds as an afterthought, “You don’t get that a lot around ‘ere.”

Alfie nods thoughtfully, scratching his beard. “Me, I’m more of a dog person. Similar in some ways I guess, those animals. Dogs are good-natured critters too.” He leans closer. Somehow, Tommy has ended up sitting right next to him. “Ever thought about the fact that, ‘spite of their size, horses are prey? ‘s why they can become so jittery. They've got this-" Solomons gestures in the air. "Constant fucking need to be on the move. Always running 'round. Never fully relaxed. Got to be a fucking exhausting life."  

Tommy looks at him with half-closed eyes. “Mhm.”

“And for all their… niceness, dogs are predators. 's why they chase you, right? Could tear out your bloody throat, even the small ones, if they felt like it. Heard they can crush a fucking spine with their teeth, the biggest. So, predators, yeah?”

Had he been sober, the implications of the statement would have him reaching for his gun. Now, he just blinks slowly. Thinks that Alfie has nice eyes. Warm eyes. “Guess they are.”

 

“I’m following you to the fucking door, Thomas. Ain’t no point in arguing.” Alfie watches him struggle with the key for a moment before taking it and locking the door to the Garrison. Tommy can’t quite understand how Alfie is so sober in comparison to him. _Solomons, it’s Solomons and nothing else._

“Fuck, remind me never to let you loose on the rum again,” Solomons grumbles. “Clearly, you can’t hold your fucking liquor.”

“As if you could tell me what I can and cannot do,” Tommy grins.

The walk home is sort of a blur. At some point, he almost falls over, and Solomons wraps an arm around his waist to steady him.

“You’ve got nice arms,” he slurs, the alcohol having removed any sort of filter between his brain and his mouth. “Strong. Like you carry around-” he has to swallow. “Carry around a lot of heavy things.”

Alfie looks down at him, but Tommy is too far gone to read his expression. “That pretty mouth of yours will get you killed one day, sweetie,” he says. “Fucking walking about, making deals with people in a whole other league. That’s asking for trouble.”

Tommy just laughs at this.

Alfie shakes his head, knocking on the Shelby household’s door quite harshly to wake someone up. How does he know where Tommy lives?

“I can get to- the inside on my own,” Tommy mutters. Everything is spinning around him.

“Like fuck you can.” Alfie knocks again. “I’m making sure someone gets you to bed. Or I’ll have one of your crazy brothers after me.”

A bleary-eyed Arthur comes to open.

“What the hell is going on here?” he looks from Solomons, to his rather unresponsive little brother hanging off his arm.

“Just delivering this disaster of a person to ya’.” Tommy hears Alfie’s voice. But he can’t see. Has he closed his eyes?

“What did you do to him?” Arthur sounds angry. Then again, he’s angry a lot.

“Believe me, he did this to himself.”

“I’ll fucking kill you if-“

“Watch it with the threats. He’s just drunk. Be happy I took 'im home like a fucking gentleman instead of just leaving him in the gutter somewhere. Could’ve ended badly, that. A lot of men less honourable than me 'round here.” Alfie’s arm disappears from around his waist, and a new set of limbs reach out to hold him upright. He takes a staggering step forward and finds himself clinging to Arthur’s shoulders.

“Tommy? You alright?”

“Sure, ‘s all fine.” Someone laughs. It’s Alfie.

“It’s been a pleasure. See you soon Thomas.

 

Tommy wakes up the next morning – _afternoon_ \- with a pounding headache and a death wish. Everything from the night before is just a blur. But he does remember the exchange about predator and prey. Then something about his mouth getting him killed some day. And as he lies there in bed, strongly reconsidering his life choices, he realises he will have to do something drastic about this situation. Solomons has been holding all the cards for far too long now. And he’s not the one to just sit around and wait for an opponent’s next move.

 ...

”Right. For weeks, I’ve been trying to figure you out.”

Alfie looks up from his papers when Tommy walks into his office.

“Thomas, what a lovely surprise. Take a seat.”

Tommy remains standing.

”It feels like the rest of us in this world…” he continues, doing his very best to keep his voice void of emotion. And failing miserably. “We’re in this race, right? With rules. And sure, we break them to get ahead, because maybe we were given a bad horse, and life is unfair. But at least we know we’re breaking the rules. And what rules we’re breaking”

Alfie stands up too, walking around to stand by his desk. Crosses his arms over his chest. 

“And then there’s you…” Tommy gestures in Solomons direction. “Who doesn’t even seem to be on the fucking racecourse. You’re off by yourself, frolicking in some bloody field. Completely unaware of what everyone else is doing. And yet, somehow, you’re still winning the bloody race.”

Solomons smiles. And it just serves to rile Tommy up. ”I’ve spent so much time trying to understand your motives. I figured you must be some sort of genius, because I can’t for the life of me understand what all of these unwarranted… phone calls and meetings are about. But now I get it,” Tommy stops to catch his breath. ”You’re just insane. That’s the whole thing. Of course I can’t figure you out, because you don’t function like other people.”

Tommy pauses. Breathes. Feeling his pulse throb against his jaw. He doesn’t understand why this man manages to push every single one of his buttons. How often does it happen that he completely loses it like this? Maybe it’s him that’s insane. And Solomons just keeps smiling. That stupid fucking smile that makes Tommy want to… shoot him in the fucking face.

The other man closes the distance between them in two long strides. And Tommy thinks for a fraction of a second that this is it: Solomons is either going to put a bullet in his head or beat him to death. When two large hands come up to cup his jaw his whole body tenses, all of his instincts telling him to fight, thinking that those hands will soon wrap themselves around his neck. But the touch is gentle. 

Then, Solomons leans down and kisses him.

And right at that moment, his head goes silent.

Without understanding what his own body is doing, he relaxes against Solomons’ larger frame. Wraps his arms around his neck and clings to him in a way that is so far from his usual self, desperate almost. The kiss is somehow both gentle and heated all at once, and when Alfie draws back slightly, he finds himself pulling him back down. Alfie – _since when did Solomons become Alfie in his head?_ \- lets his hands travel down his backside, and lifts him up onto the desk. Firm. Sure. It causes Tommy a whole onslaught of emotions he didn’t know he could still feel. It's like his body is remembering all of these things it used to do once, before the war. His knees fall open and he wraps his legs around Alfie’s hips, drawing him closer.  Alfie feels big and sturdy against him; safe, somehow. And fuck, it’s so bloody nice to not be the one in charge for once, just melt into his arms and let him take the lead. Been far too long since someone kissed him like this. Far too long since he was held like this. 

“Took you long enough to take the fucking hint.” Alfie smirks and pulls away a bit. Tommy’s slips his arms down from his shoulders to support himself against the desk as he attempts to catch his breath. Feels like he’s just woken up from some insane fever dream. 

“What?”

“Well,” Alfie cradles the back of his head in one of his hands. “I decided this was going to happen, right, the very first time you walked into my office. With those pretty eyes bloodshot. All bruised. Still walked in like you owned the place, yeah? You just came here, all alone- little as you are, and acted like you _fucking owned the place_. Wasn't just that pretty face that did it. No, it was all of that... the fucking nerve of you. So I figured I needed to have you. And I'm used to getting what I fucking want.” His words send a spike of arousal through Tommy. He likes a man who can take charge. In situations like these, at least. Or in bed. No shame in admitting that. But there are questions that need sorting out before he can let his mind drift to things like that. Because he still doesn't quite believe or understand Solomons true motives. 

“You pointed a gun at me?” He raises an eyebrow. 

“Had to take you for a bloody test run, right,” Alfie shrugs. “You know me by now, Tommy-boy. I can be a bit unbalanced, as they say. Can’t have you running scared when that happens. But there's no risk, I figure. Because you're clearly just as fucking crazy as me.”

Tommy realises that maybe he does know him at this point. At least a little bit. Isn’t that an unexpected development? Is he crazy, for doing this? Quite possibly. 

“So, is that what all these phone calls and visits have been about?”

Alfie throws his head back and laughs. “Tommy, for all your cleverness, you're completely fucking oblivious. Can’t you see when a man is trying to woo you? Thought my next move would have to be sending you fucking flowers or some shit like that. But sure, I'm a gentleman. I could do that sort of thing. If it gets you in the mood.”

Tommy falters. He blames the kiss. The fact that he’s sitting on Alfie Solomons’ fucking desk with the man in question between his legs.

The past month's events play out in his head, and he suddenly feels very stupid. Had this been any other man, anyone but Solomons, yeah, he would’ve taken the hint. He’s not a fucking idiot. _Yes, yes he always was an idiot when it came to things like this._ He’s been so focused on figuring out what Solomons grand plan is that this has just passed him by… 

A warm hand cups his jaw and Alfie’s thumb runs across his bottom lip.

“You lick your lips sometimes. When you’re thinking, yeah?” he says. “Drives me up the bloody wall. Got to be careful with that, pretty thing. Bet you think a whole lot around your other  _business associates_. Could end very badly that. A lot of dangerous fucking men in this business.”

 _You are dangerous. I am dangerous._ Tommy doesn't have time to respond to this idiotic notion. He has more questions.

“So that time at the stables, you were actually making a pass at me?”

“Bloody hell, Thomas, I couldn’t have been more obvious!” Alfie laughs again. “You think I talk that way with all of my business partners? I practically shoved you up the fucking wall. And you just stood there, talking about _getting what you need_ and looking up at me through those long lashes of yours- Fuck, I nearly did shove you against the wall. Could've just taken you right there.” 

“I thought you were just playing some sort of game…” Tommy defends himself. 

“Just to see what it would take for you to become flustered,” Alfie leans closer. “I bet you look even prettier when you blush. Guess we'll see about that soon enough, eh?”

“I don’t get flustered,” Tommy states. _That's a lie_. “And I don’t blush.” _Another lie._  

“Is that a challenge? Because I’ve got quite the mouth on me, yeah? You haven’t heard the fucking things I can say in bed. I’ll bet you anything they’ll do the trick.”

“What makes you think we’ll ever be in a bed together?” Tommy challenges, but a small part of him wants to add that they could just do it on the desk. Right now. He doesn’t listen to that part.

“That you came here.” Alfie’s breath is hot against his ear. “That you let me do this,“ his hands squeeze Tommy’s thighs as if to point out they’re still open around his hips. “And that you’ll let me kiss you again.”

Tommy does let him. Several times.


End file.
